5. Talia
Chapter 5
Talia
I don’t mean to eavesdrop. It just happens.
I turn the corner of the dimly lit hallway, my sneakers barely making a sound against the polished linoleum, when I hear his voice—sharp, biting.
Soren.
I stop instinctively, my body going still.
I know I should walk away, but there’s something about his tone that makes my stomach clench. He’s always controlled, cold even, but right now, there’s a sharp edge beneath his words.
I inch closer, pressing myself against the wall just outside the on-call room. The door is cracked open, just enough for me to hear.
“You have no right,” Soren snaps, his voice low but vibrating with restrained fury.
A muffled response filters through, and I realize he’s on the phone. I can’t hear the other person clearly, just the sharp, clipped rhythm of their words. But it’s enough to piece together the general idea of the conversation.
I shouldn’t be listening.
But I do, because then Soren exhales sharply, and when he speaks again, it’s even colder.
“You think I’m unfit? That Marigold would be better off with you two?”
My breath catches. Marigold? I shift closer, my pulse hammering in my ears.
“She’s my daughter,” Soren growls. “She’s not going anywhere.”
There’s a long pause. Then a quieter, almost mocking voice on the other end, and I swear I feel the temperature drop.
Soren’s next words are lethal. “You think some hack judge would take my daughter away from me? I will bury anyone foolish enough to even try.”
My stomach clenches. They’re threatening to take Marigold away.
A chill spreads through me, tightening my grip on the chart in my hands.
Soren exhales again, and there’s a scrape of movement—like he’s pacing, barely holding himself together.
“She’s not going to live with you,” he says, voice thick with something I can’t place. “Lisa wanted—” He stops abruptly, like the words choke him.
I take in a breath. Lisa. His late wife.
Another pause. Then, softer, but no less deadly, “You were never there for us when she was alive. You don’t get to act like you care now.”
And then it clicks—he’s speaking to his in-laws. What kind of grandparents would think taking their grandchild from her father was right? Who could be so cruel? Soren huffs out a bitter laugh. “No, I’m not discussing this any further. You want to go to court? Try me.”
There’s more muffled talking, and then Soren makes a sound—half laugh, half exhale, something exhausted and furious.
“I don’t care what you think is best. This conversation is over.”
The call ends.
Silence.
For a second, I think he might stay in there, fuming, trying to gather himself. But then I hear movement, heavy footsteps coming toward me.
I straighten, stepping back just as Soren pushes the door open. He freezes the moment he sees me. For a second, neither of us speaks.
His expression hardens immediately, his face a mask of irritation, but there’s something else behind it—something unsettled. Worried.
“How long have you been standing there?” he asks, his voice quiet but sharp.
I could lie. I probably should.
But I don’t.
“Long enough,” I say softly.
His jaw tightens.
I cross my arms, tilting my head. “So… are you going to pretend I didn’t just hear all of that?”
His eyes flash, but instead of answering, he steps past me, moving toward the nurses’ station.
I roll my eyes and follow.
“Soren.”
He ignores me. Typical.
I quicken my pace, falling into step beside him. “You can’t just pretend that didn’t happen.”
“Why not?” he mutters.
“Because I heard it.”
He stops suddenly, turning to face me. “And?”
I arch a brow. “And… it sounded serious.”
“It’s not your business.”
I exhale sharply. “Maybe not. But I’d have to be blind not to see how much that call upset you.”
His nostrils flare slightly, but he doesn’t argue.
I step closer, lowering my voice. “They’re trying to take Marigold, aren’t they?”
His entire body goes stiff. I see it in the way his fists clench at his sides, the way his shoulders tense.
Finally, he exhales, running his hand quickly through his hair, a tick I’ve begun to notice. I think he’s struggling to reign himself in, but when he speaks again, his voice is back to perfectly controlled.
“They think they can take her,” he says quietly. “They can’t.”
“Are you sure?”
His eyes snap to mine. “Yes.”
I don’t know why, but the intensity of his response makes my stomach twist. For the first time, I see something else beneath all that control. Something real.
Fear.
All at once, he’s no longer cold, calculating Dr. Soren Calloway. He’s a father, and he’s afraid of losing his daughter. That realization guts me.
I inhale, forcing my voice to stay steady. “Are they open to working something out?”
His jaw locks. “I don’t care if they are. They weren’t there when Lisa was sick, when she was dying and Marigold was heartbroken. They didn’t care then. Now, suddenly, they want to act as if they care their granddaughter now?” He scoffs. “They don’t get to change their minds when it suits them.”
I stay quiet, letting him get it out.
For a moment, we just stand there, the hospital bustling around us—beeping machines, hushed conversations, footsteps echoing down the hall.
Then, softly, he says, “I won’t let them take her.”
The finality in his voice makes my throat tighten.
I clear it quickly, forcing a small smirk. “I doubt Marigold would go willingly.”
His lips twitch, almost like he wants to smile but refuses. “She’s stubborn.”
“Wonder where she gets that from.”
That earns me a look, but the tension in his shoulders loosens just slightly.
I tap my fingers against my chart. “For what it’s worth, I think you’re a good dad.” And it’s not a lie. I can see the way he cares. He may be cold, but I know Soren Calloway loves his daughter.
His eyes flick to mine then. There’s a glint of some unreadable expression before he exhales, looking away.
“I have rounds to finish.”
A dismissal. I roll my eyes.
“Of course you do.”
He turns and walks off, and I watch him go, an odd, unfamiliar curling in my chest. I don’t know why I care.
But I do.
***
Hours later, I find Soren alone in the break room.
It’s late, past ten. I wonder who’s watching Marigold. Some new nanny, I’m sure. I know he let the other one go. I feel bad for a moment, but now that I’ve seen Soren defend Marigold, I’m not surprised.
Nina may have had her excuses, but Soren demands only the best for his daughter.
The hospital is quieter now—just the distant murmur of nurses at the station, the occasional beep of a heart monitor. The smell of burnt coffee lingers in the air, mixing with antiseptic and something vaguely metallic.
Soren is at the counter, his back to me, gripping a white ceramic mug. His posture is rigid, shoulders squared like he’s bracing for impact.
I hesitate for half a second, then step inside.
“You drink coffee this late?” I ask, keeping my voice light.
He doesn’t turn. “It’s decaf.”
“Didn’t peg you for the type to drink fake coffee.”
He exhales, setting the mug down with a soft clink. “Didn’t peg you for the type to eavesdrop in hallways.”
I roll my eyes and move closer, leaning against the counter beside him. “I wasn’t eavesdropping.”
His brow lifts.
I sigh. “Fine. Maybe a little,” I sigh.
He doesn’t argue, just picks up his mug and takes a sip.
I watch him carefully. He looks exhausted. The usual sharpness in his expression is dulled at the edges, like today has been dragging him under. Like the phone call from earlier is still weighing on him.
And before I know it, I’m asking, “You want to talk about it?”
His grip tightens on the mug. “No.”
I wait.
And wait.
After a long pause, Soren exhales, dragging a hand down his face.
“They want to take her,” he rasps. “They think she’d be… better off. They think I can’t take care of my own daughter. Because I’m not a mother. Not a wife. I’m not… Lisa.”
I can’t even imagine what that must feel like. I swallow. “That’s… unbelievably unfair.”
Soren huffs a short, bitter laugh. “Doesn’t matter. They’ll fight me on this. They’ll use every excuse they can.” He shakes his head, looking away. “And if I lose—”
His voice cuts off.
I don’t know if I’ve ever seen him like this—this exposed. Like he’s standing on the edge of a cliff, one wrong step from going over.
I shift closer. “You’re not going to lose her, Soren.”
His throat bobs. He doesn’t say anything.
The silence stretches, thick with unspoken words neither of us can bring ourselves to say.
Then, before I can think better of it, I blurt, “Well, I guess you could always just marry someone. That’d solve the problem, right?”
His head snaps toward me so fast I almost laugh. I was joking.
Obviously.
But the way he’s looking at me—brows drawn, eyes narrowed, like he’s actually considering it—makes my stomach flip.
“Are you…?” he starts, voice low.
I hold up my hands. “Kidding. I was kidding .”
Soren’s expression doesn’t change.
I laugh, a little nervous now. “You’re not seriously thinking about that, are you?”
He still doesn’t say anything. But he stares at me, too long. “You are!” I accuse, eyes widening. But not only that…
Oh my gosh.
“Me?” I cry, a flush rushing into my face. My heart rate ticks up.
Soren blinks, like he’s snapping out of something. “I…” He exhales sharply. “Forget it.”
“Forget it? Forget what?” I demand. “The fact that you just seriously considered marrying me for, what? Legal purposes?”
“It was a thought, Talia.”
“A bad thought.”
He sighs heavily. “I’m aware.”
I cross my arms. “Well, now I need to know. Were you mentally planning the whole thing? Imagining the courthouse, the paperwork, the—”
“Talia.”
I smirk. “You were.”
He glares at me. I press my lips together, fighting a grin.
The tension has shifted now, something lighter creeping in. Soren’s still tense, still tired, but there’s less weight in his shoulders. And, surprisingly, I feel lighter as well. Still.
I shake my head. “Yeah, no. Not happening.”
“Obviously,” he says with a roll of his dark eyes.
I grin, nudging his arm with my elbow. “You could at least pretend to be a little disappointed.”
“Trust me, you’re not my type.”
“ Wow ,” I laugh with feigned offense.
That almost gets a smile out of him. Almost.
For a second, we just stand there, the coffee machine humming behind us, the distant sounds of the hospital filling the space between words.
Then, so quiet I almost miss it, he says, “I won’t lose her, Talia.”
I nod. “I know.”
I really do.